I saw ripening first on the backs of my hands –
age speckles and pouchy fists, wrinkles
like retreating tide marks in sand,
then oxbow veins channeled to my wrists.
A watershed of blatant blood canals, these
river hands. At birth, seamless babies
grab fat-finger hurry to taste and suck and taste
all sense out of touch. Then hands go to work.
Blood flows a course, pulsing hot, interlacing
in the high relief of pat, pet, fist up, and stroke.
Older veins lift as a blue roots’ stand-up show,
reminders – well-lived, well-loved, miles flowed
to celebrate a stream of touch-love, fingers bent
as guides to rafting where the delta ends.
Tricia Knoll is an Oregon poet whose aging hands continue to do work that fascinates her - writing haiku and poetry, digging holes for daffodils, brushing a dog, and peeling the skin off cooked beets. Her poetry collections include full-length book Ocean’s Laughter (Aldrich Press, 2016) and a chapbook Urban Wild (Finishing Line Press, 2014). Website: triciaknoll.com
This poem made me consider my own "age speckles," Tricia! Those last four lines are absolutely breath-taking!ReplyDelete
The whole poem is marvelous. retreating tide marks in the sand...wow! Might pinch that line for one of my poems!!ReplyDelete
A excellent poem, I couldn't pick a favorite line. Welcome to Whispers!
Your new friend,
Lovely poem. Love that last line and skilful use of the sonnet form.ReplyDelete
Thank you, all. I haven't written many sonnets...this took a bit of work for me.ReplyDelete
This is such a wonderful sonnet--quite impressive since you haven't written many. I'm so glad you are getting greetings and lovely comments on your poem. Welcome to Whispers! I hope you enjoy being a part of our online journal/poetry community.
Hello Tricia. Welcome to Whispers and thank you for sharing your delightful sonnet. I enjoyed it. Continued blessings!ReplyDelete